


Afterglow

by Sarahtoo



Series: Phrack Fucking Friday [18]
Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Established Phrack, F/M, Phrack Fucking Friday, Post-Season/Series 03, little bit of pining, pff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-03
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2019-03-26 07:21:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13852827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarahtoo/pseuds/Sarahtoo
Summary: Jack is missing Phryne, who's been away for weeks. He comes home at the end of a day spent trying to exhaust himself so that he'll sleep to find that someone's broken into his house.





	Afterglow

Wearily, Jack pushed open the door of his small cottage. It had been a long few weeks. With Miss Fisher out of town, he hadn’t been sleeping well; he’d become accustomed to the warmth of her body beside his. And with no nightcaps in her parlor to look forward to, he’d had no real reason to cut his workday short most of the time; the sheer weight of hours was beginning to show. It would be worth it, though, when she returned and he could wrangle a couple of days off. He intended to spend at least one of them in bed, showing her how much he’d missed her.

He set his briefcase beside the door, shrugging out of his overcoat to hang it on its accustomed hook. Leaning forward to rest one hand on the wall, he pulled off his shoes and socks, leaving the first beside the door and tucking the second into his jacket pocket as he pulled that off as well. His toes curled against the tile of the entryway, its chill a welcome treat after the heat of the day. Laying his jacket over one arm, he reached up to loosen his tie and collar, starting for his bedroom. He thought there was still some of the ham Mr. Butler had sent over earlier in the week. A thick sandwich flavored with mustard pickle would set him right. It would only be a few more days until Phryne was back; perhaps then his exhausted sleep would be from lovemaking rather than fifteen hours behind a desk.

As he walked past the door to his parlor, stretching his neck from side to side, he noted that the lamp was on—and then that realization was overridden entirely.

“You’re awfully late.”

Jack froze, his muscles locking together. A heartbeat later, he was turning, eyes wide, his hands still holding the sides of his tie. In the dimness of the parlor, the reading lamp played over her as if she was on display—exactly as she’d intended, he was sure. Phryne Fisher sat sideways on one end of his sofa, her feet drawn up onto the cushions and comfortably crossed at the ankles, a book resting against her knees. She wore one of his white dress shirts, its placket unbuttoned partway down her chest, and little or nothing else. Her face was bare of makeup, and her hair was mussed, much like it was in the mornings when she woke beside him.

“Phryne?” His tone was disbelieving. She wasn’t due for a week, and yet here she was, in all her glory.

“Hello, Jack.” She smiled at him, a tinge of shyness surprising a squeeze of his heart. “I finished my business early.”

“Phryne.” A whisper of her name, and he was in motion. He dropped his jacket in the doorway to the parlor, taking great ground-eating strides across the room to where she sat. Her laughter was joyous as she stretched out her legs and opened her arms; he didn’t stop until he was lying over her, one hand on the back of the sofa and the other in her hair as he brought his mouth to hers.

She tasted of herself and home and heaven, and Jack heard the quiet thump of her book falling to the carpet before her arms were around him, her hands spreading along the muscles of his back to urge him closer. Her tongue slid a welcome past his, and the low moan he emitted earned him one of her legs winding around his to encourage his hips to nestle more deeply between her thighs.

Her mouth stayed on his as she arched against him, her hands slipping around to his chest to work at the buttons on his waistcoat and shirt. Jack angled his head to trail kisses down the line of her neck, nosing aside the collar of her—his—shirt to trail his lips along the sharp line of her collarbone.

“Jack!” His name was a gasp of pleasure as his hand preceded his mouth, sliding inside the shirt to find her unbound breast, warm and silken, its nipple a hard point. “ _Jack!_ ” Again, his name, as he covered that nipple with his mouth, its pressure against his tongue drawing a groan from deep within his chest.

“Oh god, Jack, please,” the words were warm against his ear as she bent her head to his, her hands now fumbling at his waistband. He pressed his hips into her, and she obliged him, one hand turning to cover his aching length through the fabric of his smalls. With her hand on his cock, he surged up to cover her mouth again, his tongue sliding between her lips as her hand slid beneath his many layers to touch his skin.

The low sound that she made into his mouth as her hands wrapped around his hard length was needy, her guidance undeniable. Jack sank into her body, her sex unencumbered by underthings, confirming that she’d been sitting on his couch in nothing but his shirt, an idea he’d examine more closely another time. In one unhurried thrust, he filled her, and felt the missing part of his heart fill as well.

Stilling, his cock embedded deep within her body, he lifted his head slightly to speak against her lips. “Hello, Miss Fisher.” 

The words were a whisper that washed across her, sending tingles down her body. Phryne had been excited to see him, had thought that her arrangement on his sofa would be titillating, but she’d never anticipated just how good it would feel to be back in his arms. The sensation of his hardness inside her, the warmth of his mouth on her breast, his weight pushing her into the soft cushions, all combined into something that just said _home_.

“I missed you, inspector,” she murmured back, sipping at his bottom lip as she spoke. His eyes fluttered as she played with his mouth, and though he tried to hold still, she felt him pulse his hips against her.

“Oh, have you been gone?” He jerked as she pinched his bottom, a laugh rumbling in his wide chest. Capturing her hand, he brought it to his lips. “I barely slept while you were away,” he admitted, transferring his mouth back to hers for a soft kiss. “I don’t know what to do with the whole of the bed anymore.”

She laughed at that—she couldn’t deny her tendency to sprawl in her sleep, but apparently he wasn’t complaining. Lifting her head, she kissed him again, deeply, as she took her hand back and stroked it and its fellow underneath his open shirt. The skin of his back was warm and smooth, and she slid her hands down to press her open palms to the hard globes of his ass. Lifting her hips, she impaled herself further; he moaned into her kiss and began to move.

Slowly, savoringly, he stroked out of her body and then back in, one hand sliding down her side to lift her thigh up to his waist; she assisted, turning her knee out to open her hips for him. With each warm thrust into her body, Jack pressed his pelvis against hers, doing his best to stimulate the sensitive bud between her legs; he succeeded, too, and Phryne felt her body simultaneously loosen—her sex becoming wetter as her arousal spiralled upward—and tighten, as the spring within her belly and running down her thighs prepared itself for the impact of release.

“Jack,” she whimpered, the word lost in the sound of their flesh and the heaving of their breath.

“Come for me,” Jack said through gritted teeth, “I want to see you shatter.”

“Jack!” Phryne pulled one of her hands up to grasp her breast, fingers twisting at her nipple as the pressure built.

With a soft curse, Jack heaved himself up, tucking his knees beneath her thighs and shoving his waistcoat, braces, and shirt backward off his shoulders. A louder “fuck!” escaped him when the shirt caught at his wrists and he had to stop and fumble at his cufflinks. The word sent a thrill through Phryne—there was something about making this so-contained man curse that she found intensely erotic. He tried to hold himself still and deep within her as he stripped, but he couldn’t help a bit of jostling, and the sensations drew soft gasps from her. 

Phryne lifted her hand—now freed from its grip on his ass—to her other breast, fingers twisting her nipples and sending stabs of pleasure down her belly. Unable to resist, she contracted her stomach muscles, pulling her hips slightly away, then relaxed them to push herself onto him again, her eyes closing as she pleasured herself upon his hard flesh. She heard the soft plink-skitter of his cufflinks hitting the top of the coffee table and rustling fabric as he shed his layers; then his hands were on her hips again and the tiny movements she’d been making became long, smooth thrusts.

“God,” he muttered as he moved, “you feel so good. How do you feel so good?”

His thrusts gained power, and Phryne arched, her head pressing against the arm of the sofa. The scent of sex rose in the room, and Phryne opened her eyes a slit to watch him as he worked his body against hers. His face was determined, his brows lowered and his jaw tight, and his chest glistened with a light sheen of sweat. The muscles in his stomach, now blessedly bare, flexed as his hips moved.

“Beautiful,” she breathed, and his eyes flew up to hers, the humor in them calling a smile to her lips. 

“You’re the beautiful one,” he replied, moving one hand to lay his palm on her mons, his thumb dipping between her legs to rub at her pleasure center.

Jack felt his lips curve in a smile as she writhed against him, her hips echoing the strokes of his cock. She was a vision, so beautiful she made him ache, more stunning in her disheveled state than she ever was when she was polished and put together. Her skin glowed in the lamplight, the bright white of his shirt, open except for a single button at her belly, framing her breasts and her sex. Her hands, small but strong, worked at her nipples, and his hand—by contrast, rough and knobbly—laid atop her mound. He loved the sounds she made during sex, the gasps and moans, the wet squelches and slaps of flesh, and the way she smelled—ripe and female, perfume mixed with the musk of desire.

Before he met Phryne, Jack would not have termed himself a sensualist. He’d always enjoyed sex—what man didn’t?—but he’d never luxuriated in it, in the sensations of skin against skin, the sounds and smells and muchness of it. Now he couldn’t imagine lovemaking without those things, couldn’t imagine not feeling the rush of lust mixed with love that simply touching Phryne gave him. 

His favorite part of lovemaking, though, was bringing Phryne to climax. More even than his own orgasms, he loved being the instrument of hers. Watching her now, he could see that she was close, her mouth open, her eyes focused inward on the pleasure running through her. He changed the angle of his thrusts, alternating shallow pulses with long strokes, then brought his index finger down to join his thumb in manipulating her clit. With a short scream, Phryne came, her back bowing with the force of it, her mouth wide and her neck arched. A flush of pink rose from where her hands clutched her breasts—the soft flesh bulging through her fingers already reddened by her rough handling—up her throat to bloom in her cheeks. Her thighs stiffened against his waist, clenching around him to keep his cock deep within her body, and a gush of moisture hit his fingers.

Though he’d braced himself for them, not intending to come just yet, the strong pulses of her sex around his cock brought a shout of pleasure to Jack’s throat as his body betrayed him. He sagged over her, catching himself on one hand as his hips stuttered against hers, filling her with the heat of his release. Bodies still, Jack imagined they resembled a tableau of pleasure: his back bowed above her, hers arched up to his, thighs taut and mouths frozen as orgasm tore through them. 

When the pleasure released him, Jack carefully lowered himself to lie atop Phryne, angling to the side to allow her to breathe, but unwilling to withdraw from her heat. He loved this moment, after they’d both peaked, loved the vulnerability of softening inside her body. He buried his head in her neck, breathing deeply of her scent, his arms sliding around her—one under her head and the other to her thigh, keeping her leg wrapped around his hips.

Phryne slid limp hands up his arms, wrapping one hand behind his neck, her fingers sliding over the back of his skull, and the other around his chest to open, starfish-wide, against his back. His breath heaved, raising and lowering his back, the warm gusts of air tickling her neck. The wiry hair on his chest brushed her sensitive nipples, and his cock nestled within her. This moment, after the flash of heat and the exertion of lovemaking, was precious to her, and she held him close, turning her head to brush his ear with her lips. He shivered, and she smiled and did it again.

“Mmmph,” he said, squeezing her thigh gently. “Basking. Be nice.” His voice, always deep, was barely more than a rumble.

“Basking, are you?” She stroked his skull, enjoying the soft brushing of the short hairs at his nape. “In me?”

He nodded, his lips trailing along her neck, and it was her turn to shiver, the feeling deeper than just his touch on her skin; her heart seemed to feel it too. It frightened her, sometimes, just how much she loved him. Her romantic history wasn’t terribly successful, and so she’d avoided entanglements for a very long time. But Jack… Jack had wormed his way into her heart; he’d lured her with his looks and his scent, then drawn her in further with his incisive wit and his respect for her mind. She’d been captured before it had even occurred to her to notice. And now that she also knew his lovemaking skills, well, there would be no going back. Because it was important. _He_ was important. And she took care of the important things.

“Are you hungry?” She trailed her fingers down his back, enjoying the way his skin pebbled at the sensation. 

The noise he made was obviously negative, and his arms tightened around her. Phryne’s smile turned indulgent. Jack was always hungry, but he also had his priorities in order—this moment was apparently one of them. So she closed her eyes, enjoying it—his weight, his scent, his hands on her. Soon enough, he’d rouse enough to want the basket she’d brought with her from her own kitchen, and they’d both need more space than this narrow sofa in which to pass the night. But for now, she was content to bask in his nearness. There would be time for the rest.


End file.
